Tonight's train, I mean. Be ready to go to the station at that time. You are to buy a ticket from here to Bancroft, Michigan--_Upper_ Michigan--for my granddaughter. Reserve the necessary berths--she will have two nights on the sleeper. You will find money in the left-hand drawer of my dresser. If it isn't enough, you will lend me some--she will need something extra for meals and so forth. And remember, not a word to anybody. If necessary, go outside to telephone about the train."

"Very well, sir," said James. "I understand, sir--and by Jinks! I'm _with_ you!"

"Good. Now, Jeannette, as soon as we know what time that train goes--"

"I _do_ know," said Jeanne. "Nine-thirty, P.M. I have that time-card--the one that Allen Rossiter gave me--with the trains marked right through to Bancroft. But James had better make sure that the time hasn't been changed. And please, couldn't he send a telegram to Allen, in Chicago, to meet me! I have his address."

"Of course," returned Mr. Huntington. "I had forgotten that. Allen will be of great a.s.sistance. Now, go very quietly to your room. You are not to say good-by to anybody. No one but James is to know that you are going. Put on something fit to travel in and pack as many useful clothes as your suitcase will hold--things that you can wear in Bancroft. Have your hat and gloves where you can find them quickly and take your money with you. James will take care of everything else. Now _go_."

When Mr. Huntington said "Now _go_," people usually went. Jeanne _wanted_ to throw her arms about her grandfather's neck, and say a thousand thank-yous, but plainly this was not the time.

She flew to her room. Fortunately the house was practically deserted, for Jeanne was too excited to remember to be quiet. Mr. and Mrs. Charles Huntington, however, had left at two o'clock for a long motoring trip to the country, and would not be home until midnight. It was Bridget's afternoon out and Maggie was busy in the kitchen.

"All the things I _don't_ want," said she, opening her closet door, "I'll hang on _this_ side. I shan't need any party clothes for the Cinder Pond. Nor any white shoes."

Of course the suitcase wouldn't hold everything; no suitcase ever does.

Jeanne's selection was really quite wonderful. She would have liked to buy presents for all the children, but there was no time for that.

Besides, to the Cinder Pond child, the city streets had always been terrifying. She had never visited the shopping district alone. But there was a cake of "smelly" white soap to take to Sammy and an outgrown linen dress to cut down for Annie, and perhaps Allen would find her something in Chicago for the others. She hoped Sammy wouldn't eat the soap.

The suitcase packed, Jeanne, who was naturally orderly, folded her discarded garments neatly away in the dresser drawers. No one would have guessed that an excited traveler had just packed a good portion of her wardrobe in that perfectly neat room. Certainly not Maggie, who looked in to tell her that her dinner was ready in the breakfast-room.

"And not a soul here to eat it but you," added Maggie.

"Couldn't I have it with my grandfather?"

"He said not," returned Maggie. "I was setting it in there, but he said he wanted to eat by himself tonight. He seems different--better, maybe.

Sick folks, they say, _do_ get a bit short like when they're on the mend."

At eight o 'clock, Jeanne tapped at her grandfather's door. There was no response. She opened the door very quietly and went inside. Although he usually sat up until nine, Mr. Huntington was in bed and apparently asleep.

When you don't wish to say good-by to a person that you love very much and possibly never expect to see again, perhaps it is wiser to pretend that you are asleep. Jeanne left the softest and lightest of kisses on the wrinkled hand outside the cover, and then tiptoed to the hall to find James. Her only other farewell had been given to the mirror-child in her closet door.

"Ready, Miss Jeanne? Very well, Miss. I'll get your suitcase. We'd better be starting. It's a good way to the station and there's quite a bit to be done there. You can sit in a snug corner behind a newspaper, while I buy your tickets and all."

"I'll carry this," said Jeanne, who had a large square package under her arm. "It's my work-box. I shall need that. I expect to sew a lot in Bancroft, but it wouldn't go into my suitcase. And, James. I left two of my newest handkerchiefs on my dresser. Tomorrow, will you please give one of them to Maggie, the other to Bridget? I tried to find something for you; but there wasn't a thing that would do."

"Well," returned James, "it isn't likely I'll forget you, and the madam will be giving me cause to remember you by tomorrow."

When Jeanne was aboard the train and James, with a great big lump in his throat, had gulped out: "Good-by, Miss, and a pleasant journey to you,"

she yielded to the conductor as much as he wanted of her long yellow ticket.

Unconsciously she imitated what she called "Aunt Agatha's carriage manner." When Mrs. Huntington rode in any sort of a vehicle, she always sat stiffly upright, presenting a most imposing exterior. Jeanne was a good many sizes smaller than Aunt Agatha, but she, too, sat so very primly that no stranger would have _thought_ of chucking her under the chin and saying: "h.e.l.lo, little girl, where are _you_ going all by yourself?" Certainly no one had ever ventured to "chuck" Aunt Agatha.

And then, remembering her other experience in a sleeper, Jeannette set about her preparations for bed, as sedately as any seasoned traveler.

She did one unusual thing, however. Something that Aunt Agatha had _never_ done. As soon as the curtains had fallen about her, she drew from the top of her stocking a very small pasteboard box. The cover was dotted with small pin p.r.i.c.ks.

"I'm afraid," said Jeanne, eying this object, doubtfully, "this car is pretty warm. Maybe I'd better raise the cover just a little."

She slept from eleven to four. Having no watch, she felt obliged, after that, to keep one drowsy eye on the scenery. She hoped she should be able to recognize Chicago when she saw it. Anyway, there was plenty of time, since she was to have breakfast on the train. n.o.body seemed to be stirring. But _something_ had stirred. When Jeanne looked into the little box on the window sill it was empty.

Making as little noise as possible, Jeanne searched every inch of her bed, her curtains, her clothes. She even looked inside her shoes.

"Oh, Bayard Taylor!" she breathed, "I _trusted_ you."

And then, Jeanne was seized by a horrible thought. "Goodness!" she gasped. "Suppose he's in somebody else's bed--they'd die of fright!"

As soon as the other pa.s.sengers began to stir, Jeanne hurriedly dressed herself. Then she pressed the bell-b.u.t.ton in her berth.

"Mr. Porter," said she, "I wish you would please be _very_ careful when you make this bed. I have lost something--you _mustn't_ step on it."

"Yore watch, Miss? Yore pocketbook?" asked the solicitous porter.

"No," returned Jeanne, a bit sheepishly, "just my pet snail."

Happily, not very much later, the wandering snail was safely rescued from under the opposite berth.

"Is this yere _bug_ what you-all done lost?" asked the porter, grinning from ear to ear as he restored Jeanne's property. "Well, I declare to goodness, I nevah did see no such pet as that befoh, in all mah born days."

"I hope," said Jeanne, anxiously, "that I can buy a tiny sc.r.a.p of lettuce leaf for his breakfast. I didn't have a chance to bring anything."

CHAPTER XIX

WITH THE ROSSITERS

Not only Allen, but Allen's mother met the young traveler when she stepped from the train in Chicago. Such a bright, attractive mother, with such a nice, mother-y smile. No wonder Allen was a pleasant boy with gentle manners. It must be pretty nice, thought Jeanne, to live with a mother like that.

"We're going to take you home with us," said Mrs. Rossiter. "We brought the car so we can take your suitcase right along with us. We'll have lunch at home, with Allen's grandmother. She is very anxious to see you; she used to know your father's people, you know. They were neighbors once, in Philadelphia."

"I'll like that," said Jeanne.

"After lunch, we'll show you a little bit of Chicago--Lincoln Park, I think--and then we'll give you some dinner and put you on your train.

You needn't worry about anything. Our young railroad man, here, has it all fixed up for you."

"That's lovely," said Jeanne, gratefully.

"Any adventures along the way?" asked Allen, who had carried the suitcase and the work-box, too, all the way to the automobile.

"Only one," said Jeanne. "I lost Bayard Taylor. He was a great American traveler, you know. We had him in school--"

"Was it a book?" asked Mrs. Rossiter. "Perhaps we can inquire--"

"I found him again," laughed Jeanne. "He was my pet snail."

"Where is he now?" asked Allen.